The Night of the Snake in the Grass
by California gal
Summary: The boys are assigned to rescue a pair of kidnapped girls from a vicious criminal-and soon find themselves in the same fix. Seems to be only one way to save the girls. One agent has to sacrifice himself!


**THE NIGHT OF THE SNAKE IN THE GRASS**

_Latet anguis in herba._

[There is a snake concealed in the grass.]

—Proverb

"I realize as well as you two do that this is not a 'normal' assignment." Colonel Richmond's expression was deadly somber as he spoke. "But it's also extremely critical and urgent."

Artemus nodded. "We understand, Colonel. What can you tell us about it?" They were in the regional office located in Denver, where Richmond had just arrived and the agents had been summoned to meet him.

"Leatrice and Cynara Gresham are the daughters of a member of the British legation in Washington. Nineteen and sixteen years old." Very close in age to the colonel's own daughters. "Their parents returned to England on some long planned family business, leaving their daughters in the care of a Mrs. Maggs, hired specifically to act as their companion on a tour of the west in their parents' absence. Two days ago, shortly after they arrived in Denver, the young ladies were taken from their carriage at gunpoint. A ransom note has been received, and it appears genuine."

"What's being demanded?" Artie asked.

"One million dollars."

Artemus emitted a low whistle and saw matching amazement on his partner's face. "Are the parents that wealthy?"

"No. They come from a well-respected, old-line British family, but one who would be considered 'poor' in comparison to others with the same lineage, hence, the father's employment in the embassy. I am sure they could not raise such a sum—at least not immediately."

"I take it they don't even know about it yet," Jim mused, "so I presume the kidnappers expect the United States government to foot the bill."

"Exactly so, if for no other reason than to avoid a serious diplomatic incident. But of course, the girls' lives are at stake."

"What do we know about how they were taken?" Artie asked then.

Richmond got to his feet. "You need to talk to Mrs. Maggs. She's in the other room."

"I presume her credentials are impeccable," Jim commented as he also rose.

Richmond shrugged. "The parents hired her, so one can only assume they investigated her carefully. She's also British so it's possible they knew her, or of her, back in England."

The colonel led the way out of his office and down the hall toward what the agents knew was a room used for interviews, furnished with sofas and chairs that were more like what one might find in a home. The atmosphere often served to relax the people interviewed about a crime, whether victims or witnesses. Richmond tapped on the door and then opened it, stepping inside. Jim followed him and then Artemus.

The woman seated on the sofa holding a cup of tea looked up. At first a worried smile appeared on her round face, but abruptly her eyes opened wide, mouth popping into wide "O." The cup and saucer fell to the carpet as she jumped to her feet. She would have, Jim was certain, bolted for the door had not Artemus been standing there blocking it as he leaned against the side with an odd, rather bemused smile on his face.

"Oh Lord," Mrs. Maggs moaned, slowing sitting down again. She was fifty or so, her gray hair in a neat bun atop her head. Her garb was impeccable and quite conservative, as befitted a governess or companion.

"Hello, Gerty," Artemus greeted in a mockingly cordial tone. "It's been a long while, hasn't it?"

Richmond looked from one to the other, his expression baffled. "You know Mrs. Maggs, Artemus?"

"Oh, yes. We're old friends, aren't we, Gerty?" Artie stepped forward to tower over her.

She barely glanced up then busied herself picking up her cup and saucer, which thankfully had not shattered. "I'm so sorry, colonel. I was lost in reverie, worried about my girls, and when the door opened…"

"Come, come, Gerty," Artie purred. "You can do better than that. What's the scam?"

"I have no idea what you are about, Mr. Gordon," she affected high dudgeon. "I'm a poor lady in mourning after what's happened to my charges."

"Who is she, Artie?" Jim asked softly.

"Gertrude Spalding was the name I knew her by. She was a sometime actress with the first troupe I ever joined before the war. Not a bad actress either, but Gerty preferred to earn her living conning gents out of their ready funds."

"I've changed, Mr. Gordon," she whimpered. "I've reformed!"

"Then why did you give us the name Agnes Maggs?" Richmond demanded.

Her fingers twined and twisted with each other. "Well, sir, I had a bad life. A hard life. It was a new start, you know what I mean? New name, new start…"

Now Artemus leaned down, putting his face close to hers as he spoke in a soft and deadly tone. "Gerty, where are the girls?"

She leaned away from him, as far as the back of the sofa would allow. "I'm sure I don't know, Mr. Gordon. I swear! They was taken from me by masked men. You ask the colonel. Ain't that so, colonel?"

Richmond had his arms folded, face grim. "All we know is what you told us, Mrs.—Miss Spalding."

"What did she tell you?" Jim asked.

"She hired a buggy to take the girls out to sightsee in the area, whereupon they were accosted by an 'army' of masked men who grabbed the girls and gave 'Mrs. Maggs' a ransom note."

"And she brought the note to you?" Artie evinced some surprise. "Usually the warning is to keep the authorities out of it."

"I suspected then and I'm sure now that the kidnappers are quite aware that the parents cannot raise the money, and as I said, expect the government to do so."

Now Jim glared down at the cowering woman. "Where are they? Who's behind this?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, sir," she whimpered under the fiery green eyes.

"Miss Spalding," the colonel's voice and mien were stern, "you are in a serious situation here. Abetting a kidnapping can land you in prison, and if anything happens to the girls… you would be an accomplice to murder."

Her eyes widened. "I didn't do nothin'! He said they wouldn't be hurt!"

"Who said?" Jim demanded.

She looked at each of the angry men towering over her. "Are you going to put in me in the lockup?"

"Yes," Richmond replied promptly. "How long you stay there depends on your cooperation."

She considered it a moment then ventured another question. "Is there a reward if I help?"

"Only less prison time," Richmond snapped. "You'd better tell us what you know. The longer those girls are missing, the more jeopardy they are in."

Gertrude Spalding alias Mrs. Maggs pondered for only a moment. "He hired me to pose as the governess, got me all the nice letters and clothes, paid my fare to Washington."

"Who did?" Jim asked sharply.

"He said his name was Julian Jarrett."

The three men exchanged astonished glances, and Artemus said, "That can't be."

"What does he look like?" Jim asked.

She was plainly puzzled by their surprise. "Well, a fine lookin' gent. Maybe forty-five or fifty. Graying hair. Blue eyes. Real sharp blue eyes. You know what I mean? Makes a person think he can see right into their heads!"

Artie let out a breath. "That sounds like Jarrett all right." He shook his head. "That accident two years ago..."

"Was staged," Jim finished crisply. "He's done a damn good job of staying out of sight since then." Julian Jarrett had been sought for several particularly brutal crimes, when he was reported killed in the collapse of an old mining tunnel where he had been hiding from pursuers. Several men who had been with him swore to it. Because those men had been captured and faced criminal charges themselves, they seemed to have no reason to lie about the incident. Jarrett's horse, with personal items in the saddlebags, had been found nearby—and he had not been seen since.

"If it is Jarrett," Artie spoke softly, "we can be assured he'll carry out any threats, no matter how vicious."

The colonel repeated Jim's early question. "Where is he, Gerty? Where is Jarrett?"

Once again her fingers entwined nervously. "I don't know for sure."

"Where did you meet with him?" Jim wanted to know.

"Oh, that was in a cabin about five miles east of the city. I only met him that once. After that, some other fellows brought me the money and letters I used to get the job. I swear I didn't know he planned to grab the girls. Such sweet young ladies, they are."

"What _did_ you expect?" Richmond asked angrily.

"Well, I'm sure I don't know, sir." She ducked her head meekly.

"I'll be right back," the colonel said, and left the room.

Gerty looked up. "Mr. Gordon, I know you remember the good times we had back then. Didn't I help you? You being such a young fellow and not knowin' the ropes, so to speak." Her gaze was hopeful.

"You did help me, Gerty, and I appreciate that. But this overweighs anything you ever did for me. The only way you can come close to getting back into my good graces is to cooperate as much as possible. Is everything you've told us the truth?"

"Well, yes. Of course. Mostly." Her gaze strayed away from their faces.

Artemus grabbed a nearby wooden chair and pulled it closer, sitting down, and leaning his elbows on his knees so as to put his face closer to her. "Gerty, I'm not sure you comprehend the seriousness of this situation, even after what the colonel told you. If those girls are harmed, you could _hang_!"

Her eyes popped wide. "Naw! I didn't do nothin' that bad! Did I?"

"You aided and abetted," Jim said sternly. "Without your complicity, the Gresham girls could not have been kidnapped. Your crime is as serious as Jarrett's."

"Naw," she protested again, but more weakly, looking at each man's angry countenance. "He said… he said they wouldn't be harmed. I swear I wouldn't of hurt them girls. I got me a daughter of my own. You remember Sally, doncha, Mr. Gordon? She's married now to a fine lad. Lives in Seattle."

"And doesn't know who her mother is," Artie snapped. "Do you want her to find out?" He remembered the toddler with her mother's big eyes and lots of dark brown curls. Perhaps the one fine thing Gerty had ever done was to give that child up for adoption, though her motives were not entirely altruistic at the time. The manager of the theater in Spokane had paid Gerty a fine sum to take the little girl into his childless home. The primary reason young Artemus had not protested the arrangement was because he knew little Sally would be in a much healthier environment. He knew Mr. and Mrs. Parker doted on their adopted daughter over the years.

"Oh, you wouldn't tell her!"

"The story might come out if these girls are harmed, Gerty. You know how reporters tend to dig up all the dirt they can in a sensational story." He had taken a flyer in suggesting that Sally was unaware of her true mother. The conditions had been that Gerty would never contact Sally, and apparently she had honored the bargain, even if she had kept track of her daughter.

"What else can you tell us about Julian Jarrett?" Jim urged, unaware of the story regarding Gerty's daughter, but cognizant that discussing Sally had shaken the woman.

"I… I followed them."

"You followed Jarrett's gang after they took the Gresham girls?" Artie was surprised.

She shrugged. "I just thought… well, maybe Mr. Jarrett would want me to keep quiet about it."

"You're right," Jim stated sternly. "But if you're thinking he would have paid you, you are dead wrong. Very _dead_ wrong."

Gerty was shaken again. "I didn't think about that." One more time her eyes widened. "Then he'll kill me if I tell you anything now!"

"We'll protect you, Gerty," Artie assured her. "No one will know. And it'll mean a great deal to the judge, considering what you already did."

She relented then and related the whole story. Part of the previous recounting had been true. Julian Jarrett had contacted her, apparently having heard not only of her skills as a con artist but as an actress. She had a knack of assuming an English accent and a formal speech pattern, something she'd done often on the stage in small roles, and although she had never been to England, over the years she had learned a great deal about the country, enough to convince any dupe if necessary.

Jarrett had somehow learned of Mr. and Mrs. Gresham's upcoming trip back home, and that they were planning to allow their daughters to take a tour of the west in their absence. He arranged to have the girls' regular companion to have a serious "accident," and then for the parents to fortuitously meet Mrs. Maggs, an educated and completely respectable lady from their native land who also had some knowledge of the American west, having lived there with her late husband.

"He knew about it way in advance," Gerty said. "I don't know how, but he found out a long time ago that the folks was goin' back to England this summer."

Artie nodded. "Jarrett is a meticulous man. Go on."

Jarrett had given Gerty specific instructions. Everything was to be "normal" for the first couple of weeks of their itinerary. Gerty had even enjoyed herself. "Such lovely young ladies," she cooed. "Treated me like family!" She appeared to suddenly realize how saying that made her complicity even more despicable. "Course, I was _paid_ to be nice to them back!"

They were to spend a week in Denver before heading south to eventually end up in Albuquerque. During the week in Colorado, Gerty suggested a tour of some nearby silver mines, to which the two girls eagerly agreed. They were fascinated by everything western and wanted to see it all. Gerty knew exactly where to steer the buggy, having refused a driver for this trip. "Just us girls," she had told her charges.

Jarrett had been waiting at the appointed spot with several men. The girls were transferred to horses, and off they went. Gerty now admitted she had waited a bit, then followed the group. "They went on up into the hills, and maybe ten miles up the road, took a path that I couldn't take the buggy on."

At the agents' insistence, she described as best she could the location of the trail, mentioning that a stream had crossed the road shortly before the turnoff. A wooden bridge spanned the stream. Gerty of course had no notion how far the trail led or where the gang went. She swore that she was telling the truth. "I wouldn't want no harm to come to my Sally. Her happiness means all the world to me."

The colonel returned with a burly man whom he introduced as a deputy city marshal whose wife was a matron in the city jail. The two of them would take personal charge of Gertrude Spalding, seeing that she was put in a separate cell, well apart from other inmates, without anyone knowing she was there. Gerty left with him rather meekly, after begging Artemus to remember "good old times" as well as her cooperation today.

They told the colonel what they had learned. He frowned deeply. "Can you trust her?"

"To an extent," Artie said, nodding. "She's not exactly trustworthy and honest, to be sure. But even though she literally sold her daughter, I'm pretty certain she did it mostly with a good heart. She knew she couldn't raise Sally, and she knew that the Parkers would give the girl a good life. It was not in her nature to do it without cash exchanging hands, however. Plus she's aware that we told her the truth in saying that the newspapers would dig up every tidbit of her past life if she was known to be involved in the deaths of the Gresham girls. Sally might be Gerty's only vulnerable spot."

"What do you want to do?" Richmond asked. "I don't have any other agents in Denver at the moment. I can probably get two or three here in a few days. Malone and Harper are in Kansas…"

Jim was shaking his head. "I think we'd better do it alone. At least to start."

Richmond pondered it a moment. "How many men do you think Jarrett has with him?"

"Gerty said a half dozen to pick up the girls. Could be more. He always liked big gangs. He had nearly twenty men to pull that train heist three-four years ago."

"What exactly were the demands in the ransom note, Colonel?" Artie asked.

"As I said, one million dollars by the seventh, which is five days away now. The money is to be in U.S. notes, in tens and twenties, and left in a satchel in an old cabin south of Denver. There's a map showing its location."

"A million in tens and twenties," Jim murmured. "That's going to be a lot of bills!"

"Yes. I've already started the process moving to collect it—just in case."

"Then _we'd_ better get moving," Artemus stated. "I'm thinking nighttime might give us an advantage. Weather is clear and there should be a half moon tonight. I have a notion that Jarrett is too smart to be close to town. He may have even circled around and instead of being east of Denver, is now west or north!"

"As soon as Harper and Malone show up, we'll get a posse together and follow," Richmond said.

"Warn them to be very cautious," Jim admonished. "We'll leave the best trail we can. If at all possible, we will of course rescue the girls and head back to town. We won't know until we get there, however, what we are actually up against."

W*W*W*W*W

Following Gerty's description of the trail Jarrett and his men took with the kidnapped girls was easy. Not so much because they could discern tracks of the horses, but because the path up into the mountains was well defined, if somewhat overgrown. More than two days had passed since the kidnapping, and although rain had fallen at least once during that period, well-defined tracks were not needed. Artie speculated that wagons and pack mules had used this road to haul ore out of the mines in these mountains.

"A lot of silver was taken out of this area, before the mines played out," he commented.

"You can bet that Jarrett has chosen his hideout well," Jim responded. "He always plans in detail. What puzzles me is that Jarrett has never done this before. His forte has always been robberies. Trains and banks in particular."

"I know. But he went into hiding for two years. He must have dreamed this up during that time. I wonder if it's possible he was laying low in the east somewhere, an area in which he's not well known—and probably not expected to be. As Gerty mentioned, he apparently found out about the Greshams' plans a long time ago—and took a while to set it in motion."

"Yeah. The sickening thing is we know with his past history he won't hesitate to harm these girls." Jim leaned down from the saddle, raising his hand to caution his partner to stop. "This looks fresh." He peered at the prints of a shod horse in the dust of the trail.

"Reckon it is."

The sudden strange voice from behind them startled both men, who reached for their weapons, then halted the movement as half a dozen men stepped out from behind nearby rocks and bushes. All were carrying rifles or pistols that were pointed at the two mounted men.

"Just get down slow," the first man spoke again, moving carefully toward them. "Don't make a move for your guns or you'll be dead before you hit the ground."

They knew they had no choice. Dismounting, they were quickly disarmed and their wrists tied behind their backs before they were pushed back aboard their saddles. The man who seemed to be the leader of this bunch chose not to answer any questions, preferring to bark orders, which were obeyed by both the captives and the other five armed men.

Jim had a sense that he should know who this man was, and after awhile it came to him, as their horses were led further up into the mountains. He was one of the men who had been captured in Idaho when Julian Jarrett was reported killed in the mine cave-in. Pete Boyce had not had a previous record, with little known about him. The judge had been lenient, believing Boyce's tale of having been duped into joining Jarrett's gang, and given him a sentence of only one year.

_Seems Jarrett may have rewarded Boyce, _Jim mused. Boyce probably was not thirty yet, and had a boyish countenance that also probably swayed the judge. _Could well be that Jarrett made a deal with Boyce that if he took the fall, Jarrett would be waiting for him with lucrative plans._

Anger stirred in Jim's mind as he thought about how easily they had been surprised. They had been wary, but had seen and heard nothing. Even the horses had not given a sign of sensing anyone else in the area. He knew that the strong nighttime breeze likely carried off both scent and sound, as well as causing a rustling in the leaves above them. Obviously they, or someone, had been expected.

Artie saw the hard expression on his partner's face and knew Jim was having the same thoughts he was. They had walked right into a trap. Whether Jarrett had been expecting Jim West and Artemus Gordon or not, he had been ready for anyone trying to find him, day or night. They had thought that tracking by night, in the moonlight, had been safer than daytime, but not so. The good news was that they were certainly being taken to Jarrett and the kidnapped girls. The bad part was that, like the Gresham sisters, they were prisoners as well.

Their captors did not attempt to ride fast, obviously aware that no one had followed the agents up into the mountains, and they followed a long and twisting trail that branched off the main wagon road, veering north and west. The eastern sky was beginning to show signs of brightening by the time they finally emerged into a large cleared area with several structures. An old mine, Artie decided immediately. He could see the abandoned diggings in the hillsides beyond, even in the dim light. Some operations in this area had been large-scale, with a number of men hired to dig, so that structures had been erected to house them as well as equipment and animals.

Guns were pointed their way again as the two agents were pulled off their horses and steered toward the front door of the biggest building. Beyond, off to one side, a corral was visible, obviously adjacent to a stable or barn. Some smaller buildings were further off. After going through a short hallway with a couple of closed doors off it, they entered a large room containing a long table and numerous chairs off to one side, as well as a few benches and a couple of smaller tables.

They were ordered to halt, and after their hands were untied, told to remove their gun belts and jackets; they were been searched thoroughly, every weapon removed, including the explosive putty in Jim's boot heels. Their captors prodded them through another door, down a narrow hallway, where a door was opened and they were pushed inside. The sound of the bar thudding outside the door was final.

W*W*W*W*W

Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay,

Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme,

Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.

—_Childe Harold_ (canto I, st. 3), Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron; 1788-1824), English poet

"We walked right into it!"

Those had been Jim's first angry words when they were locked into the dim, sturdy room. Artemus had wanted to make excuses, but he knew his partner was correct. While not careless, they certainly had not expected a nighttime ambush. Jarrett—or someone—had been a little smarter this time.

_Will the colonel or anyone else think to search this far out? We left a clear trail for our part. But had Jarrett been smart enough to have his men obliterate those signs? _They had traveled a number of miles; much farther than they would have expected to reach Jarrett's headquarters. Artie had noticed two of their captors immediately turn their horses to ride back down the trail as they dismounted at the buildings. His first thought had been that they were going to act as sentries, but what if they were going to erase not only their own tracks but also those that the agents had left earlier?

Artie looked toward his partner, slumped, like he was, on the floor, and leaning against the walls. Without their guns and other weapons, this little dark room was quite a secure prison. _Not that having any tools would do us much good!_ An inspection of the room proved that. The building might have been old, but it was still very solid. The room they were in was about eight feet square, and may have been a storeroom of some sort. The only window was very small and high up toward the ceiling, providing only dim illumination even as the day had brightened. Even the hinges were on the outside, along with the securing bar, leaving them only a smooth surface on the interior.

"Wonder if he plans to leave us here to starve to death," Artemus muttered then. Although their pocket watches had been taken, he was certain three or four hours had elapsed. What sun he could see through the small window appeared to indicate midmorning, or nearly.

"I'm wondering just how involved Gerty was in this."

Artie shook his head. "I have a notion her only complicity was being gullible. Jarrett obviously knew what kind of woman he was hiring. Gerty is clever, and often too clever for her own good. She's always looking for the extra dollar."

He was not looking forward to facing their captor, given their history with Julian Jarrett. Although they had never arrested him, they had certainly put a crimp in his activities, and along with Frank Harper, may have caused him to go "underground," so to speak, faking his death two years ago. "I wonder where he's been the last couple of years."

"I'm sure he'll tell us." Jim shifted his uncomfortable position on the floor. "Artie, how far from Denver do you think we traveled?"

Artemus thought about that a moment. "Good question. We certainly angled off to the north as we rode, somewhat northwest. These mountains can be confusing in the daytime, let alone at night. I'd guess we're at least twenty miles north or northwest."

"Jarrett probably would think it poetic justice if we were to die similarly to the way he had to fake his death. Perhaps he plans to bury us in another tunnel."

"Such happy thoughts you have, James." Artie sighed. "I wish we could have seen the girls before we were shoved in here, to ensure they are safe. We've got to get out of here!"

"I have no doubt they are all right, thus far. He won't harm them until he has the money and he has no need to provide proof of their safety." Jim's eyes scanned the walls. "The only exit from this room is through that door. We're going to have to wait until Jarrett decides it's time to gloat over us. Then see what happens." He rested his gaze met his partner's steadily. "The most important thing is to get the Gresham girls out of here safely."

"Agreed."

A thudding sound interrupted, and both men slowly climbed to their feet, eyes on the door as it opened. The man who opened it held a pistol; the two behind him did as well. "Mr. Jarrett wants to talk to you boys," the first man said. He was burly with a scarred face, carrying a knife in his belt.

Jim and Artemus stepped out into the passageway, which was longer than the one through which they had entered from the front, and were escorted out into the much larger room that apparently had once been the dining hall for the mine employees. A door at one side stood open; cupboards that Artie glimpsed through that door indicated it might be the kitchen. He could see a rear door to the building directly beyond. Julian Jarrett was in the big room, in the company of another eight men.

Jarrett was a lean man with gray hair that was thinning on top, and piercing blue eyes. He did not fit Artie's idea of a criminal mastermind in physical appearance, resembling instead a schoolteacher or bank clerk. He was, however, a vicious madman who ruled his minions with an iron hand. Artie, while in a disguise, had once witnessed Jarrett shooting down one of his own men for being slow to obey an order. Another was pistol-whipped for questioning a command. However, Jarrett never seemed to have trouble gathering men to him. He was also known to share his spoils very generously.

"Gentlemen, I must tell you how honored I am to have the two finest agents in the country sent at my behest." He was seated at a chair behind what was apparently the dining table; Boyce stood at his shoulder.

"Your behest?" Artie repeated.

Jarrett smirked. "Granted my little ploy is designed to enrich my coffers, but I also hoped to use it to gain a bit of much deserved vengeance on the Secret Service. Now if Mr. Harper was here, the scenario would be perfect."

"Mr. Harper is hundreds of miles away," Artie informed him. _Or he was._

"Too bad. Perhaps next time. Then again, now that you two have been removed, I am quite certain your fine Colonel Richmond will call in all the troops—including Frank Harper. He may join us yet."

"Now that you have us," Jim offered quietly, "why don't you set the girls free?"

"Ah, that I could. However, I do not have the required remuneration in hand yet. I'm sure the colonel realizes now that he need not plan any more tricks. The money will be in my hands on schedule."

"We'd like to see the Gresham girls," Artie stated.

"And you shall. The young ladies have been kind enough to offer to assist us in our housekeeping duties. I must say they do a fine job of serving the victuals they prepare, having been trained in the social graces befitting their status in society, but their culinary skills are lacking. Not surprising considering their class. Young ladies of that social order learn how to instruct cooks, not prepare the food themselves. However, Mr. Gordon, I'm told you are quite adept at the stove."

"I have dabbled in the culinary craft," Artie admitted, hoping he sounded reluctant when in truth the idea was perfect. _Better than being kept in that room all the time. Who knows what opportunities may arise?_

"And I'm sure you'd like to have the assistance of your friend, as well as the young ladies. So be it. Only please do not think I am being lax, gentlemen; far from it. You will be under guard at all times. And the guards will have instructions that if anything amiss occurs, the Misses Gresham will be the first target. Understood?"

"We get the idea," Jim muttered angrily.

"And Mr. West, don't start believing you can take on my entire crew. I have ten men here. I think that's a few too many for even a man of your skills. Now, into the kitchen. Your feminine assistants will be brought to you shortly."

The kitchen proved to be a fairly large room, with a massive iron stove, a sink with a pump, and numerous cupboards filled with supplies. The man who had opened the door to their cell, who had been addressed by Jarrett as "Spider," told Artie that some meat could be brought in from a smokehouse out back, while forays into a nearby town provided beef and chicken periodically.

Artie was enthusiastically exclaiming over the setup and provisions, hoping to convince Jarrett and his men that he was not going to be causing any trouble, when Leatrice and Cynara Gresham were escorted in. Although Artemus had not seen a photograph of the girls, they were exactly as he pictured, golden hair, peaches and cream complexion, and frightened blue eyes. If the hair had once been nicely coifed, both wore it down now, and their garb showed the effects of several days' wear. Artie suspected that fingers had been used in an attempt to remove snarls in their locks, not always successfully. They held hands tightly as they were ushered in.

Jarrett introduced the two men as their "rescuers," snickering as he did so. He was holding the high hand right now, and enjoying it thoroughly. "I'll leave you to get acquainted and plan dinner," Jarrett smirked as he departed, leaving a man sitting on a chair in the doorway, holding a rifle.

Leatrice was the elder. She gazed at the two agents. "Were you really sent to rescue us?"

"Afraid so," Jim smiled weakly. His voice lowered. "And we still plan on doing just that." He saw by their eyes that they were not the least bit convinced at this moment.

"What do you want us to do?" Cynara asked. "We don't know how to cook."

"As Mr. Jarrett learned," Leatrice spoke wryly.

"Then perhaps I can teach you a few tricks," Artie responded brightly. He wanted to remove the fear and dread from their faces, and the best way to do that was to keep them occupied. "I've asked for a ham to be brought in from the smokehouse. For this evening, we'll stick to something fast and simple. So how about you help me peel some potatoes?"

The two agents soon learned that although Leatrice and Cynara were frightened, they were not without courage and intelligence. Knowing that if they held whispered conversations the guard at the door would become suspicious, Jim and Artemus spoke in near normal voices, low enough that they would not carry to the guard. The words spoken did not always match their facial expressions or tone. The young ladies picked it up quickly and responded in kind.

They first wanted to know if "poor Mrs. Maggs" was safe. Deciding now was not the time to reveal the awful truth, Jim and Artemus reassured them that the dear lady was being take care of. In turn, both girls assured the agents they had not really been mistreated, merely imprisoned. "Only I don't like how some of the men look at us," Leatrice stated as she smiled and dumped more potatoes into the sink to be peeled. As soon as her face was away from the door, the smile vanished and was replaced by one of distaste tinged by fear.

"Jarrett isn't going to allow anything to happen to you," Jim smiled back while he sliced the huge ham that had been brought in. _At least not until he has the ransom in hand, and we've got to get you out of here before then._ They had three days, he figured. The colonel had stated the ransom was due to be delivered in five days, and one day was already gone. Best not to wait until that last day. Chances were very good that Jarrett would dispose of the hostages either before going to pick up his loot, or shortly thereafter.

W*W*W*W*W

Jarrett pronounced the meal a success, and seemed pleased that Artie promised a better fare the following day when he had the time to prepare more complicated dishes. But the fried potatoes, ham and freshly shelled peas were all disposed of in short order. The four captives sat at the table as well, two on each side between all the men. Jarrett was too clever to allow West and Gordon to be side-by-side. Jim had Leatrice beside him, while Cynara was with Artemus.

Jarrett sat at the head of the table and used his position to instruct his men. He was, Jim and Artemus discovered, a stickler for etiquette, chastising one man for holding his fork "improperly," and another for reaching across the table to secure the bowl of peas. Jim noticed the resentment in the faces of the men, whether they were the ones being called out or not, especially when Jarrett used the fine manners of the young ladies as examples. _This isn't the first time Jarrett has treated them like schoolboys, I'll wager._ He had that reputation. The question was whether Jarrett's treatment of his men could be used against all of them.

When the meal was completed, the prisoners were required to clear the table and wash up, again under guard. Artie took an opportunity to quietly tell Leatrice to keep her own and her sister's spirits up, but to not do anything that would incur the wrath of Julian Jarrett or draw the attention of his men. Being meek might lull Jarrett into a sense of complacency, and even if Jarrett was too wise to do so, chances were good his men were not.

Back in their cell, the two men discussed the situation and how they might be able to use it. "Ten men—ten _armed _men—is a lot to handle, Jim," Artie warned.

"I know. If there was a way to split them up…"

"Jarrett keeps a tight rein on them. Did you notice? He even assigns where they sit at the table! And they don't like it all that well."

Jim nodded in the dimness. "They like the money he's promised them so they'll accept his conduct, for now. He can pass on a quarter of the ransom money to them—twenty-five grand each—and still have three quarters of a million left for himself. I fear that as long as Jarrett is present, things are going to be tough, Artie."

Artemus sighed noisily. "I know. If only we had not been so clever as to follow that trail and fall into Jarrett's snare. Then again, if we had not, we'd likely still be looking for him!"

"True enough. And now we have to figure out a way to take advantage of the situation. Those girls…"

"Yeah." Artie knew nothing more needed to be said. Leatrice and Cynara were bearing up better than might be expected in their situation, but even they had noticed how the men looked their way. These were rough, undisciplined men for the most part, caring only about their own needs. Most would blow their pay from a job like this in a couple of nights in some saloon or whorehouse. They were not worried about these girls being returned safely to their parents.

W*W*W*W*W

"We lost it."

James Richmond stared at the angular face of his agent. "What do you mean 'lost it,' Harper?"

Frank Harper sighed deeply. "Just that. The trail Jim and Artemus left was perfectly clear for about a quarter mile after they headed off the main road. Then it just ends." He and Ned Malone had arrived by train this morning and immediately set out after the agents who had departed in search of the kidnapped girls the previous night.

A knot formed in Richmond's stomach. "No sign… of them?" He did not want to say the word "bodies."

"Nothing. We followed the wagon road for quite a distance, but there are some side trails—none of which showed any sign of being used recently. I sent a few of the boys out to search the area. But as far as I can tell, no real trail. Nothing to indicate which direction they took after their tracks fade."

Richmond pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, staring around the rugged landscape. They were high into the mountains that surrounded Denver, still east of the town, although the trail had started to veer north. "It's not good."

"Not good at all, colonel. I've got to believe that they were ambushed. I knew Jarrett back in the old days. He's one of the smartest men we ever went up against. He could have expected to be tracked, and was ready for it."

"But Gordon and West were ready, too."

Harper sighed. "I know, colonel. But the fact is… they've disappeared."

W*W*W*W*W

Although the guards at the kitchen door changed in shifts, Artemus noticed that Jim struck up conversations with whoever was there at the time during their first full day of captivity. A couple of the men responded, if only to taunt the agent about his present circumstances. Jim ragged back and even drew some laughter. Artie saw that even the girls noticed, so when he had an opportunity, he quietly asked his friend what was going on.

Jim looked back with a wide-eyed innocent expression. "Just making friends, Artie."

At supper that second day, Jarrett made an announcement. He was going to be gone most of the following day. Because the deadline for delivery of the ransom was drawing near, he had decided to go to Denver to attempt to ensure that the payment was going to be made. Pete Boyce—apparently his right-hand man now—was to accompany him.

Jarrett looked at the agents as he smirked as if he had a method to learn what was occurring regarding the ransom payment. Artie had to wonder if he thought he was going to obtain it from "Mrs. Maggs," unaware that she had been detained. If the happenstance of Artie's acquaintance with Gerty had not occurred, quite likely she would indeed have been haunting the colonel's office to learn what was transpiring. _He will not be a very happy man when he returns._

"Tomorrow might be our day," Jim said when they were locked inside their room. They had each been given a blanket, which helped somewhat against the coolness of the mountain nights, but did not make the floor any softer.

Artie frowned in the darkness. "I didn't hear Jarrett say he was taking the whole crew with him. Just one man."

"I know. But you know the saying—when the cat's away the mice will play."

W*W*W*W*W

Not only strike while the iron is hot, but make it hot by striking.

—Oliver Cromwell (1599-1658), English soldier and statesman, Lord Protector

At breakfast, Jarrett laid out the rules to be followed in his absence. Artemus observed the expressions on the faces of the men being addressed. They did not like being instructed as though they were small boys. _Is Jim right? Are they going to take advantage of the "teacher's" absence to live it up a little, perhaps become more lax in their sentry duties? If so, how can we take advantage of it?_

If just Jim and himself were involved, Artie knew, they would take a chance on simply heading out the door at any moment that presented itself. Getting their horses would be the ideal situation, but if that was not possible, they were capable of surviving in the mountains long enough to reach some help. However, the two young ladies were a different story altogether.

To keep their spirits up and their minds away from the current predicament, Artie had asked both Leatrice and Cynara about their home and their favorite activities. Leatrice liked to ride in the parks around Washington, D.C., but riding in parks, with the proper garb and equipment, was entirely different than trying to escape through this rugged countryside. Cynara knew how to ride but it was not her favorite pastime, she said. She preferred walking!

_Well, one or the other may be able to engage in her favorite activity, depending on how and if this plays out. _

About mid morning, as the "kitchen help" were completing cleaning up after breakfast and Artie was investigating the cupboards to decide what to prepare for lunch, Jarrett came to the kitchen door. "I have no doubt that Mr. West and Mr. Gordon are considering my absence as an opportunity for an escape attempt. I want to point out that all of my men are well paid, and well armed. You gentlemen would be wise to behave yourselves."

Jim looked at him coldly. "We're not idiots, Jarrett. We are not going to jeopardize these girls or ourselves with some stupid move."

Jarrett smiled. "Good. I'm glad you are using your brains. Of course, if you were really smart, you would have put your talents to better use a long time ago."

"Such as?" Artie inquired, although he was certain he knew the answer Jarrett would give.

"With your knowledge, you could be very wealthy men by now, living in luxury in South America or even Europe."

"Yeah, too bad we also have a conscience," Artemus snapped back.

Jarrett merely chuckled, turning to the guard at the door. "You men know your instructions."

"Yes, sir. They'll be here when you get back this evening."

Jim exchanged a glance with his partner. At breakfast, Jarrett had not mentioned how long he would be gone. Apparently he had informed his minions that he would be absent all day. That was good to know. _Now we just have to find the right opportunity. It might be our last—and only—chance!_

Artemus noticed the change in the atmosphere at the midday meal. The men did not appear to feel the need to "mind their manners" without Jarrett's presence. Their talk was loud, laughter raucous. He also was heedful of the gazes of these rough men on the two young women, something that had been absent, or at least less blatant previously. Jarrett may have been planning a dire fate for the hostages, but for the time being he was keeping his men under control where they were concerned.

Because Jarrett would be returning (unless seen and picked up by the colonel or some other law officer), Artemus did not worry for the safety of Leatrice and Cynara at this moment. These men wanted their share of the expected ransom and they knew they would not get it from Jarrett if the girls were abused in any way at this juncture in the plan. But that did not stop them from leering, and apparently making snide remarks to the men nearest them at the table, whereupon those who heard it would look at the girls and laugh.

"I hate that they look at Cynny that way," Leatrice whispered to Artie as they prepared to wash the dishes.

"I know, and I'm sorry we cannot do anything about it at this moment," Artie replied softly. "But don't lose hope."

She sighed deeply. "I'm trying."

Artie glanced around as Cynara entered carrying a tray full of coffee cups, Jim right behind her with the bowls that had contained the stew prepared for the meal. They had tacitly began making sure that one or the other was with the girls at all time, and today especially. Jim brought the bowls to the sink then turned and walked back to the door, where he paused by the guard seated in a chair there. Artie knew that this guard was named Sid, and he was one that Jim had had the friendliest conversations with.

"What's going on?" Jim asked, looking out into the larger room.

Sid glanced that way, where some of the men were now picking up the cleared table and moving it toward the side of the room, while others began carrying chairs and other furniture to the same location. "Got a couple of grudge matches to settle," Sid replied, a look of anticipation on his long face.

"Grudge matches? You mean they are going to fight?"

"Yep."

"I wouldn't think Mr. Jarrett would like that very well."

"What he don't know won't hurt him. Mostly it's on account of the boys are tired of just hanging around. Soon's the horses are taken care of, there ain't nothin' to do except play cards or checkers or something. That gets pretty stale."

"I guess so. But won't he notice some bruises?"

Sid shrugged his narrow shoulders. "I guess they'll have stories about running into the door and such." He chuckled at the idea.

Jim watched the activities a few moments, then turned and strolled over to the sink. The two Gresham girls were putting away the salt and pepper holders they had removed from the table, and were on the far side of the room.

Jim stepped up alongside his partner and spoke in a very low voice. "Artie, I'm going to goad them into letting me participate in the fight. I'll make it a good one, and keep their attention. As soon as all eyes are on me and the fight, do your best to get out of here with the girls." He glanced toward the back door, which was always kept closed, but the bar securing it was on the inside.

Artemus's eyes opened wide. "And leave you here alone? Not on your life, pal!"

Jim's expression was very grim. "Yes, _on my life_. Artie, you know what will happen to those young women if we don't get them out of here. I'll make sure the fight lasts awhile, at least, and I'll direct their attention away from the kitchen. You just get the hell out of here. Take horses if you can, if not, just keep moving."

Artie's gaze met that of his partner's, and he knew Jim was right. "I'll be back, James."

Jim smiled briefly. "See that you do." He turned and walked back to the door again. Sid was on his feet, rifle cradled in his arms, watching the activity in the dining area. Jim paused alongside him and observed two men in the middle of the others now, taking swings at each other to the encouragement of their audience. "Now what are they doing?"

Sid barely glanced at him. "Can't you see? That's Whitey and Mac. Had a little argument about a girl in Denver couple weeks ago and it's been simmerin' since."

"And they're playing patty-cake to solve their differences?"

Now Sid turned his head to stare at Jim. "Patty-cake! Man, they're fightin'! Didn't you see that left Whitey landed? I mean, he's probably the best brawler in the bunch here. I wouldn't want to match up against him!"

Jim's smile was condescending. "Looks like a couple of little boys playing patty-cake to me."

Sid's eyes narrowed. "You could do better?"

"Maybe. I have a notion I could take them both on easily. Maybe even a third one." Now he assumed an arrogant expression. "I doubt they'd risk it though. None of them."

Sid gaped at him a long moment, eyes narrowing, then turned. "Hey, Spider! Hey! Come over here!"

The burly man glanced around and appeared as though he was going to refuse the summons, but then spotted the agent standing beside Sid. Jim folded his arms across his chest and stared at Spider, challenging. Spider walked slowly toward them. "What do you want?"

"West here says he could take on any three of the boys and beat 'em."

Spider's eyes swept over Jim, and he sneered. "I heard you was pretty good in a fight, West. But not that good."

"Why don't you try me?" Jim inquired mildly, but allowing a hint of a taunt in his tone and in his eyes. "Afraid I'm right?"

"The boss wouldn't like it," Sid said in a low tone.

Spider barely glanced at him. "What the boss don't know won't hurt him. We can always say West tried to escape and we had to beat him up bad. I think the boys will enjoy this. Couple have tangled with him before, and we've all had friends that West and Gordon have shot up or jailed." He spun and strode back toward the other men, where Whitey and Mac were still swinging at each other.

Jim stepped back into the kitchen and began to unbutton his shirt. He looked at Artie, but did not speak. Artie knew what to do, even if he did not like it, revealed by the anger in his brown eyes. Nonetheless, both were aware of their duty; the lives of the two Gresham girls came first.

Taking a deep breath, Artemus turned back to the sink full of hot water and dishes. He did not want Sid to notice his expression, which he knew he was not disguising well. Leatrice had watched Jim remove his shirt, her eyes widening as the smooth tan skin of his muscular back and chest were revealed. Stepping over alongside Artemus, she whispered, "What's going on?"

"I'll tell you in a moment," Artie replied softly, glancing back to see that Sid was still in the doorway, now watching Jim lay his blue shirt on a nearby cabinet. "Just keep working as though nothing is different. Tell Cynara to be ready for anything."

Sid stepped aside, but held his rifle ready, as Jim moved by him out into the larger room. All the men were silent, watching. Many had heard second-hand stories of James West's prowess in fights. Some believed, others were skeptical, especially as they gazed at the rather slightly built man compared to the ones he was challenging, even as they noted the taut muscles of his chest and shoulders.

"Boys, West here says he can take on three of us at a time… and win. Figured we ought to give him his wish. Dyin' wish, you might say. Which ones you want to take on?" Spider asked as Jim entered the midst of the group. A couple of men snorted or guffawed in derision. Take on three at a time? The man was crazy!

Jim shrugged. "You pick 'em. Doesn't matter to me."

Spider glared, tiring of the insolence. He jerked a thumb at his own chest. "Well, I'm one. Whitey, you up for this bag of wind?"

The husky man with pale hair had a swollen lip from his previous bout, but he nodded. "I reckon I can take a shot at him."

The third man was thinner than the first two, but with a long reach. Jim was aware that that could be a problem, but he also knew he had grappled with similar men and managed. _Doesn't matter if I win. It matters that I make it last long enough and pull all attention away from the kitchen!_

In the kitchen Artie strolled over to the doorway. "What's going on?" he asked Sid, who responded without taking his eyes off the group in the middle of the room as he stood a half dozen feet away from the kitchen door.

"Your crazy friend is going to take on three at a time."

"Is that right? Only three?"

Now Sid looked around, eyes widening. "What?"

"If there's any money being put down, I'd advise you to put yours on Jim."

"Against Whitey, Spider, and Joe? Not on your tintype!"

Artie smiled. "It's your money." He strolled back to the sink where the girls were drying the last of the dishes.

"Is Mr. West going to be hurt?" Cynara asked in a whisper.

"Don't worry about him. Just be ready." He had already quietly explained the plan to the girls, pleased to note that they listened without alarm and were ready and willing. They knew what their chances of survival were here. _I just wish I could quit fretting about Jim. I know he had handle three men. But can he handle nine? _Artemus bore no false hopes that the nine remaining men would "play fair." If Jim did get the upper hand and defeat a few of them, they would not be happy.

Jim stood in the center of the eight men who were currently in the middle of the cleared floor. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sid standing outside the kitchen door, his eager gaze on the upcoming fray. _He wants to be closer to the action. Well, maybe I can convince him he needs to be. Artie might be able to cold cock him from behind, but that may be noticed. _

Whitey, Joe and Mac formed a triangle around him, flexing their shoulders and waving their fists menacingly, confident grins on their faces. Jim retained a calm mien, ever watchful without appearing to do so. Whitey was at his left shoulder and he was the one who moved first, stepping forward and swinging a ham-like fist. Jim ducked easily and slammed his own right fist into Whitey's stomach. With a grunt, he stumbled back, and the other two moved in simultaneously.

Seeing them, Jim whirled back in time to avoid Joe's fist with an adept move backwards. He ignored the momentarily off-balanced Joe and threw a left at Mac's chin. As Mac spun around, dazed, Jim shifted his attention to Joe, who had recovered. Lithely, Jim leapt into the air and struck Joe in the stomach with both boots, before coming back to the floor and maintaining his equilibrium. As Joe staggered back into the several men behind him, bent over and gasping for air, Whitey charged again.

This time Jim struck hard, with both fists clenched together, smacking Whitey's chin. He deliberately did it so that Whitey would fall toward the furthest side of the room. Jim quickly followed up, while both Joe and Mac were still recovering, driving his fists into Whitey's body and forcing him backward. As he expected—and hoped—the watching men surged along with the fight, and a quick glance revealed that Sid was coming forward too as the fight moved away from him.

In the kitchen, Artemus saw the door guard heading toward the melee. He heard the angry shouts and curses, and suspected that Jim was indeed going to have to contend with all nine men. _But I can't help him. Not yet. _Jerking his head to the girls, Artie pulled the bar off the door to the outside, shooed them through, then pulled the door closed behind him. With any luck, if anyone glanced inside, they would see the closed door and perhaps believe the three prisoners were off to the side, at the sink or cupboards.

Knowing the location of the stable and corral, he seized each girl's hand and led them there; at least no windows were on this side of the main building. He saw the fear and excitement on the sisters' faces, but neither hesitated, lifting their skirts with their free hands to prevent them from encumbering their movements.

Artie saw his chestnut and Jim's black in the corral. He wished he could put one of the girls on the stallion but knew the horse would probably be too much for even an experienced rider like Leatrice. Blackjack really did not like anyone on his back other than James West.

He had to release their hands to open the corral gate. Mesa trotted toward him, but Blackjack seemed to realize his master was not present this time and held himself aloof. Artie quickly scanned the other horses in the corral. He had already asked the girls if they could ride bareback, and they told him they had when younger, on their uncle's farm in Virginia. He chose a smallish mare and a bay gelding, both of which appeared to have speed and stamina, but had not panicked when the strangers entered the enclosure. They did not have time do to anything except pull the bridles onto the steeds, and Artie was extremely pleased to note that the young ladies, especially Leatrice, were quite adept at that chore.

He then lifted each girl onto the back of a horse and pulled himself aboard the chestnut. Waving them to precede him, he made one circle around the corral, driving the other horses ahead slowly toward the gate. Blackjack went with them, but Artie knew the stallion would remain nearby. They departed at a walk, not wanting to make any extra noise or dust.

Once a few hundred yards down the rutted path, he called to the girls and they kicked their horses into a canter. A gallop might defeat their purpose in the long run. In the first place, the distance to Denver was long; but secondly, Artie wanted to make sure they did not run into Jarrett returning unexpectedly. He stayed a bit ahead of the girls, always on the alert.

W*W*W*W*W

Mac was the one who decided that Mr. West needed to be taught a lesson. He had seen the young man handle three of the best fighters of the group, and while Spider, Joe and Whitey were not completely out of the battle yet, they had been staggered. Mac grabbed Jim's arm, but Jim used it for leverage, swinging himself around and slamming his free fist into the next man.

Jim had been hit a couple of times, but so far not seriously. He was aware that that was not going to last. These men were not enjoying watching him make fools of their pals—even the ones they had previously had a dispute with. _I've got to buy time._ He kept reminding himself of that, especially when he had had an opportunity to put one of his opponents on the floor.

Most importantly, Jim had carried the fight to the far side of the large room away from the door to the kitchen, and Sid the guard had followed, clutching his rifle, but apparently having forgotten his charge. Thus far no one seemed to have even looked toward the kitchen. Jim was certain Artemus and the girls were gone by now. Artie would not have lingered.

Spider used the moment when Jim's attention was on Mac and caught the agent with a hard blow to the temple. Stunned, Jim went to his knees, and remained there a long moment, hearing the jeers and laughter of the men surrounding him. He had long ago learned the value of taking advantage of moments like this to clear his head and rest his body.

Taking a quick peek up, he saw Whitey congratulating Spider, and most attention was on those two men. Swiftly he launched himself from his crouched position, spreading his arms and slamming into Whitey and Spider, driving them back into the men behind them and up against the nearby wall. Yells of surprise and rage accompanied the move.

Jim quickly regained his feet and began punching whichever man happened to be in front of him. He was quite aware that he was taking the fight away from the original trio of opponents. He also knew what was going to happen to him. But this was the best way, he figured, to prolong the bout and keep the attention of all concerned.

W*W*W*W*W

Cynara was the one who pointed to the trail leading off to the southeast. She had noticed it, she said, on their journey up to the mining buildings, and wondered where it went. At this moment, Artemus did not care. As they descended the mountain, he had become more and more wary and conscious of the fact they could encounter Jarrett at any time, especially because he was unfamiliar with the network of paths in this area. Although Jarrett had apparently told his men he would not return until evening, Artie felt it would be just like him—just as a schoolteacher might—to return early and catch his men unawares. Beyond that, as soon as Jarrett learned his accomplice in the kidnapping had been jailed, he might well decide Denver was no place for him at the moment and return earlier than planned.

So they took that first side trail, pausing long enough for Artemus to lay a false track down the wider old wagon path and to erase signs of their detour. Remembering the man who told him they bought fresh supplies at a "town" that was apparently nearby, Artie hoped they might encounter it, or at least find someone who could give them directions, if not downright assist them.

_I wish to hell I had been able to get a weapon, but that was a bit much to ask, considering the circumstances._

When they came to a narrow stream, Artie halted to allow the girls to dismount and freshen themselves with the water, as well as stretch their legs. The horses drank as well. It was then he quietly informed them of their former traveling companion's duplicity. "It was sheer coincidence that I was called into this case," he said, "and that I recognized her. I'm guessing Jarrett did not know of my previous acquaintance with Gerty, for he was certain Jim and I would be summoned."

Leatrice's pretty but grimy face hardened. "I hope she stays in prison a long time!"

"I suspect she will." He chose not to tell them of Gerty's daughter at this time. That information might garner a modicum of sympathy from Leatrice and Cynara, but it also could distract them on the remainder of their journey as they debated whether they should forgive "Mrs. Maggs."

Riding on, Artie realized that the trail seemed to pretty much parallel the main wagon road. He wondered if horsemen had used the path when the main road was clogged with slow, ore-bearing vehicles in the busy days when the mine was running full bore. The general direction was south, veering slightly east, which ought to lead them eventually toward Denver—if he was correct in his ideas concerning where they had been held prisoner.

_This might be a good trail to use for the return_, he reflected, as they appeared to be nearing some flatter country. He knew he had to get back as soon as possible. Once Jarrett returned and learned of the escape, he would very likely move his headquarters, possibly taking Jim with him. _He'd better plan to take Jim!_ The alternative might mean that Jim West would be dead, killed either by the men he was brawling with, or by Jarrett in his anger.

Artie clung to the idea that Jarrett would want to hold Jim West as hostage for as long as he could. _But if they move elsewhere, that could be a big problem. As soon as I deliver the girls to safety, I'm heading back. I already have an idea how to manage reentry into Jarrett's lair._

The trail opened out into a meadow where a few head of cattle were grazing. Beyond, Artie could see a fence that appeared to parallel a wide road, and he wondered if he was not seeing smoke from a chimney even further on. They rode warily across the meadow, seeing no signs of humans, though the column of smoke became more visible. As the road came nearer, Artie could see that it was likely a local lane, not a main artery leading to, say, Denver.

"Mr. Gordon," Leatrice called, "maybe people in that house will give us some food." She saw the smoke as well.

"We can take a look," Artie agreed. He was hungry, but he was accustomed to hardships. Although the girls had been captives for several days, Jarrett had at least fed and sheltered them. Breakfast today had been a long time ago. He had noticed neither of the girls ate much at the midday meal, perhaps too bothered by the raucousness of the men around them.

A stand of trees was located about fifty yards from the front of the small house and its accompanying buildings. Artemus sternly instructed Leatrice and Cynara to remain among those trees until, and if, he summoned them. "If you notice any sign of trouble, head back to the road and just keep riding until you find some help."

He rode slowly toward the house. A woman was sweeping the front porch, which was a good sign. Not so much that she was sweeping but that she was even present. She was middle-aged, a bit on the plump side, her hair done up in a serviceable bun. Noticing his approach, she peered at him, shading her eyes with her hand, then turned and went into the house. Half a minute later, two men emerged, one with graying hair, the other in his twenties. The younger man held a shotgun.

Artemus approached with one hand in the air, the other clutching the reins. "Good afternoon," he called. "I am in dire need of some help."

The older man stepped off the porch now. "What kind of help?"

Artie liked the direct gaze he was receiving. He slipped off the horse to the ground. "My name is Artemus Gordon. Although I do not have proof of it at this moment, I am an agent of the United States government."

Now the other came off the porch. "Pop, I've heard of Artemus Gordon! He works with that James West!"

"He's my partner," Artie confirmed, "and he's in even more serious trouble right now." He glanced back toward the trees and decided to take a chance. "I have two young ladies with me that I need to get to Denver as soon as possible. They are in danger."

"Pop" gazed at him a long moment, chewing his lip. Then he nodded. "I'm a pretty good judge of character, most times, and I got a good notion you're being truthful, sir. Where are these young ladies?"

As soon as Leatrice and Cynara responded to Artie's wave and emerged from the trees, the woman emerged onto the porch again. Shortly all three travelers were in the small kitchen, enjoying coffee while Mrs. Elton heated up some soup, and Artemus explained their situation to Mr. Elton and his son David.

"Well, that's about the most awful thing I've ever heard," Mrs. Elton said, refilling Artie's cup. "These poor girls!"

"And they still have Mr. West," Cynara cried. "He was so brave to sacrifice himself for us!"

"Any red-blooded man would have done the same," David Elton stated, his eyes fastened on the elder Gresham sister. Her disheveled appearance did not entirely disguise her attractiveness.

"I'm sure you would have, Mr. Elton," Leatrice smiled back.

"What would you have us do?" Mr. Elton inquired.

"As I said, we need to get to Denver as soon as possible. The girls are very tired, and I was hoping I could borrow a wagon from you."

"I've got a good buckboard and a pair of fine horses that'll get you there in no time. Probably about an hour and a half, two hours at the most, south of here."

By the time they had eaten and Leatrice and Cynara were afforded an opportunity to not only rest but to wash up a bit, the buckboard was waiting in front of the house. David volunteered to drive the buckboard, and Artemus borrowed a saddle for Mesa and a rifle. With Leatrice and Cynara on either side of David Elton, they set out.

W*W*W*W*W

_Julian Jarrett has returned_.

Jim lay still in the cell. He had a notion they would be coming for him soon, and right now he needed all the rest he could get. His body ached with every movement, including breathing. He could feel the stiffness of dried blood on his face, from a split lip and also a cut that had opened near the hairline.

He had held his own for a long while after all nine men entered the fray, getting in some good licks and knocking at least two unconscious, but the numbers had been too great. Overwhelmed, he had been beaten nearly senseless, to awaken in the dim room a little while ago. He could see by the light entering the small window that the time was late afternoon.

Now he could hear the angry shouts, even through the closed door. Jarrett had come back and learned that his prize prisoners, the Gresham sisters, had escaped. _In a little bit, his anger will cool enough for him to remember he still has one prisoner. _Jim had been surprised that the men he had humiliated were satisfied with simply beating him. He had not expected to live. In fact, he was fairly certain they had argued over whether to kill him. He had been barely conscious at the time. Someone must have realized that with Artemus and the Gresham girls gone, they might need to have at least one prisoner to offer to Jarrett. What Jarrett would do was anyone's guess!

_Guess I'm going to find out._

He heard the heavy footsteps out in the passageway, then the sound of the bar on the door being removed. Two men entered and pulled him to his feet, showing little kindness when he involuntarily gasped in pain. When he staggered, head reeling from the sudden movement, they seized his arms and pretty much dragged him down the passageway and into the large room.

By then Jim's senses were clearing. He saw Julian Jarrett and Peter Boyce standing side by side near the table, which had been put back to its original site in the room, along with the other furniture. Jarrett's stance was stiff, his arms folded across his chest, and his face filled with fury.

"I'm delighted to see he's still alive," Jarrett barked. He motioned, and another man pulled out a chair, which Jim was shoved into. "That fact mitigates only very slightly what has happened here."

Spider was nearby, his face sullen. "We told you what happened. It was his fault. He came busting out…"

"I know what you told me. I also know that Mr. West and Mr. Gordon are extremely clever. I will admit my error in that I did not specifically instruct that the prisoners should be immediately returned to their rooms in my absence. Somehow I thought you 'grown men' would know better." Now he turned to face Jim. "I am sure Mr. Gordon and the Gresham ladies are in Denver, or some other point of safety. I am also certain Mr. Gordon will be returning for his friend, and perhaps bringing reinforcements. For that reason, we are going to be leaving here."

"There's nowhere you can go," Jim spoke, his voice raspy with his mouth and throat dry. Keeping himself erect in the straight-backed chair was not easy. He had to concentrate on it, while also fighting to keep himself mentally alert. The pain would have been easy to give in to.

Jarrett's smile was condescending. "I remained out of sight for two years. I think I shall not have much difficulty for another few days. Spider, give Mr. West a drink of water. I think he needs one." He waited while Spider went into the kitchen and returned with a tin cup that he handed to Jim. Again, Jim had to use all his concentration to hold onto the cup and bring it to his mouth. As soon as he had a few swallows, he felt considerably better. He drained the cup and handed it back.

"Now we will pack up and be out of here by daybreak," Jarrett continued. "I will leave a nice note for Mr. Gordon with the new instructions."

"What new instructions?" Jim growled.

"Why, where to deliver the funds for your ransom, of course. I am not going to be cheated out of my million dollars. They'll pay for your safe return."

"Don't count on it."

That familiar smirk appeared on Jarrett's face. "Don't downgrade yourself, Mr. West. I don't. I'm quite aware of your value to the United States government. I'm sure President Grant and Colonel Richmond are as well. They'll pay. Especially if I send them your trigger finger."

Now Jim smiled, ignoring the twinge of pain it caused on his cut lip. "Without my trigger finger attached, they might not want me back."

Jarrett glared. "Take him back and lock him up. We have a lot to do to get ready to clear out of here. We don't want to leave anything behind, or any sign of a trail."

W*W*W*W*W

"I'm going back, Colonel. There's nothing you can do or say to stop me!"

Richmond sighed as he gazed at the belligerent face of the agent. "I'm not trying to stop you, Artemus. I'm only saying you can't rush off alone, with no plan!"

"I have a plan."

"Artemus, we can have two companies from Fort Collins here by morning…"

"No! Jarrett will kill Jim if the Army shows up!" _If he hasn't killed him already._ Artemus clung to the hope that Julian Jarrett would hold onto Jim West, as a hostage, if for no other reason. He hoped he understood men like Jarrett well enough, even while knowing that some could be unpredictable at times.

"Colonel." Frank Harper rose from the chair where he had been sitting and listening quietly. "I think Artemus is right on that score. Jarrett will keep Jim alive—if his men didn't kill him—as long as he's of some value. But he definitely will kill Jim if the army closes in."

Richmond blew out a breath through his nearly closed lips. "So you think Artemus should go in alone?"

"Not entirely alone. Ned and I can back him up."

Artie looked around. "Frank, Jarrett wants you just as badly as he wanted us. Maybe more."

Frank grinned. "Yeah, I did cause him a bit of a problem a few years back. It was because of me he had to fake his death and disappear for all this time." Frank Harper had infiltrated Jarrett's gang at the time then slipped away to bring a posse that surrounded the area before Jarrett could get away. Frank had had no reason to suspect that Jarrett had not been killed in the cave-in. He himself had seen Julian Jarrett enter the mine—and not come out.

"He doesn't know me," young Ned Malone volunteered from his chair.

"That's true, Ned," Artie nodded. "And that fact may come in handy."

He and the Gresham sisters, along with David Elton, had arrived in Denver in late afternoon. Artie had brought the girls to the colonel's office immediately, finding Harper and Malone with the colonel. Richmond had arranged for Leatrice and Cynara to be taken to their hotel, along with a strong guard of local police. David had parted with the girls, especially Leatrice, reluctantly, but Artie knew that the elder sister had given him her address in Washington and promised to write. The last report was that the girls had bathed, had a good meal in their rooms, and then crawled into bed, exhausted. Guards would remain with them overnight, and in the morning they would be put on a train heading east, still heavily escorted.

Artemus had also gotten a bath and shave and fresh clothes, but although he was tired, sleep was out of the question. He knew he needed to be back at the old mine buildings at crack of dawn. He was taking a chance that Jarrett would not leave until daylight. Jarrett's meticulousness would require that every minute detail be tended to, including erasing any signs of their presence at the mine, as well as the trail they would take out. Artie needed to be there to delay that departure.

W*W*W*W*W

Jim spent a very uncomfortable and restless night. His shirt had not been returned to him, and although the blankets that had been provided to him and Artemus were still in the locked room, they were not enough to both keep him warm and soften the hard floor. His body felt like one huge bruise, and no position was comfortable. In addition, he was thirsty. The cup of water had not helped for long.

Combined with all that, he found himself listening. Listening for a sign that his partner was returning. He did not know how Artemus would come back, he only knew it would happen. Jim doubted a posse or an Army troop would storm the mine. Artie knew better than that. He might arrange for the area to be surrounded to try to cut off escape, however. Artie probably also realized that Jarrett would be leaving the mine buildings, seeking a new hideout. For that reason, Jim knew Artemus would not delay his return too long.

Jim now knew that Jarrett planned to pull out at dawn, but Artemus did not. He could only guess. Jim heard sounds of movement in the building, sometimes quick and heavy strides down the hallway outside his door. They were packing up, removing all signs of occupation. That would be Jarrett's way. In his mind, speed was not as important as thoroughness. Apparently, however, Jarrett had not learned his lesson. He had been trapped at the mine where he supposedly died in a cave-in because he lingered too long, clearing all that he considered damning evidence.

_There must have been another exit from that mine_, Jim reasoned. Perhaps Jarrett had taken the precaution to set up the "escape" situation early on. He was not a stupid man, but an obsessed one. Jim had never heard what might have sent Julian Jarrett into a life of crime, but he had always wondered why the man had not used his mind to succeed on the right side of the law.

He had just dozed off, sitting up and leaning against the wall with the blankets wrapped around his shoulders, when the thud of the bar being moved from the outer door roused him. A lantern held high caused him to blink against the glare before he saw the two men who entered. One was Spider, who growled an order to get to his feet.

Jim did so, gritting his teeth against the aches in his battered body. The two men offered no assistance, only waved him out. They moved down the passage to the main room, where as before, Jarrett awaited with a stern demeanor.

"We're going to be leaving within in the hour, Mr. West," Jarrett declared. "I thought you might like a little breakfast beforehand. I don't want you starving to death before I'm able to collect your ransom."

"You're much too kind," Jim muttered, stepped toward the chair Jarrett indicated, where a plate held what was probably the leftovers from the men's meal. From the looks of it, the repast had not been too appetizing in the first place. _They are probably really missing Artie's talents in the kitchen._ He forced himself to eat it, however, along with the cup of lukewarm coffee, knowing he needed the sustenance.

As he did so, one man remained on guard over him, while the remaining men were occupied with carrying boxes out the front door, many from the kitchen, but also from other rooms. Jim had to wonder just what Jarrett had amassed here that was so important to him. Weapons?

One man had just tossed Jim's shirt on the table near him, having brought it from the kitchen, when a minor commotion seemed to erupt from the area of the main entrance. Jarrett had been down the passageway toward the rooms where the prisoners had been kept, and he came striding out, demanding to know what was going on.

Mac entered, his face full of consternation. "Mr. Jarrett, there's an old man out there saying this is his silver mine. Won't go away."

Jarrett glared, then stomped past Mac to go to the front door. Jim casually reached for his shirt and pulled it on, pretending disinterest, but listening carefully. The ado continued, with Jarrett's voice plainly heard, but another sometimes overriding his angrily. _All right, Artie. You need to be your most convincing._ Jim was unsure of his partner's plan, but he knew the "old man" had to be Artemus Gordon.

The uproar halted suddenly, and for a moment, Jim experienced concern. Had Artie overdone it and Jarrett ordered someone to silence him? Then he heard lower voices and footsteps in the passageway that led from the front door to the main room. Turning around, he saw Jarrett enter, followed by a bent-over old man with straggly white hair and an equally scruffy beard, his eyebrows overhanging his eyes. The hat was battered and the brim flopped down over the wearer's forehead, and the clothes were equally worn and soiled.

"Thankee, mister," the old man was babbling. "Thankee. Ya won't regret it, I promise ya. Millions there is. Millions. And old Schuster didn't know it. Hee-hee-hee! He didn't know he was sittin' right atop it! Right on top! Mornin', young man. You look like you fell down the steps."

He looked directly at Jim, who saw and recognized his partner's brown eyes, the one aspect of his appearance—along with his ears—he could not alter. But everything else about him had been altered with makeup and prosthetics, including a slightly protruding stomach and legs that moved somewhat shakily.

"Something like that," Jim replied mildly, and turned his attention back to his food. He knew he should not display too much interest.

"As I said, Mr. Walton," Jarrett spoke smoothly, "we're rather busy here right now. But I'd be interested to hear what you have to say."

"I bet ya would," Mr. Walton chortled. "I bet ya would. Say, you got any of that coffee left? I ain't had breakfast yet."

Jarrett jerked his head toward Mac, who was lingering and that man hurried toward the kitchen. "So you're saying there's an untapped silver vein on this claim?"

"Yessirree bob! I found it when me'n'Schuster was prospectin' here, oh, fifteen years ago. We was one of the first, y'know. One of the first. I found this'n, and ol' Schuster, he found t'other one. Then before I could even tell him about my find, he got all sneaky and kicked me off. Got me arrested, he did. I spent nigh onto ten years in that jail. Ten years! All the while, thinkin' about how I was gonna get out and get Schuster.

"Then when I got out, I got sick. Dangedest thing. I was never sick in the pen, but I got on the outside, and I got sick. Went out of my head for a spell. Then when I finally come out of it, year or so ago, I hear that Schuster, he went belly up. Belly up, he did. Closed the mine and moved on. Took me awhile, but I got me a claim on this property now. Ah, thankee, son!" Artie accepted the cup Mac handed him and sipped the coffee, savoring it noisily. "That's pretty darn good. Course, I got so used to that slop in the pen, anything tastes good to me now! Hee-hee-hee!"

He took another long swallow of the hot liquid, eyeing Jarrett. _I have him interested. Now I need to hook him. Jim looks to be in fair shape, if battered and bruised. But he's alive. Now we both have to get out of here in the same condition._

"Where is this new vein, Mr. Walton?" Jarrett asked mildly, though his eyes were gleaming.

Artie tapped his forehead. "Right up here, sir. Right up here. I got me a legal claim, so I do. Legal. Now I just need to find some fella to stake me so I can start digging. Ain't cheap, y'know. Ain't cheap at all."

"And you're sure it's there? The vein I mean, in the mountain. And it's worth… millions?"

"I been digging for gold and silver near all my life, mister. Near all my life. I know a mother lode when I see it. This'un's gonna make the Comstock look like chicken feed! Chicken feed! Promise you that!""

"Why hasn't it been found by someone else?"

Artie snickered. "On account of they ain't me. Ain't got my nose for the precious metal stuff. This ain't the first one I've found. But it's sure the biggest. The biggest ever. Ol' Schuster, he's going to be fit to be tied, he is. An' he ain't got nothin' to say about it. My boy's son, he's a lawyer. Good one, too. An' he says, it's all mine! All mine!"

Jim stole a glance at Jarrett out of the corner of his eye. _He's interested. More than interested. And torn. He's trying to figure out how to convince this old geezer to tell him the location of the lode, and still get out of here before the authorities come. Mac appears pretty sold too. _Hearing a sound, Jim glanced the other direction. The men who had been outside, and who probably heard the old man's initial words, were drifting in, also interested. Boyce was with them.

Jarrett smiled then. "All yours… and the partner who provides your stake."

Old Walton scratched his grizzled chin. "Why, shore, that's so, ain't it? But there's plenty for all of us. Plenty! I ain't got too many years left, but I figure on livin' them good. Real good. You know anyone who'd be thinkin' on stakin' me, sir?"

Jarrett's smile widened. "I just might, Mr. Walton. I'm expecting to come into a sizeable sum rather soon." He cast a significant glance in Jim's direction. "However, I'm sure you can understand when I say I would need more proof of this lode than simply your say-so."

"Well, shore-'nough. Shore-'nough, sir. That do make sense for a right-thinkin' man. Tell you what. You look like an honest man to me. An honest man knows an honest man, y'know what I mean? I can take one look at you and see, plain as day. So I'll tell you what. Let's go on out and I'll give you a peek at where the diggin' will be. If'n you know anything about minin'—and I can tell you do—you'll see it right away."

Julian Jarrett beamed. "Excellent, sir. I'm sure we can settle this with a handshake. Honest men can do that." He glanced at the men who were edging into the room. "Get back to the loading. And take care of our young friend here. Mr. Walton?"

Jim watched as Jarrett led Artie out through the kitchen, then he glanced at the other men. They were watching with varying degrees of curiosity and anger. Whitey was the one who expressed it. "I ain't gonna stay here while Jarrett gets the secret of where that mine is! He's going to have to share it!"

"Put West back in the room," Boyce ordered. Even he was distrustful where his boss and this possible newfound wealth was concerned.

Jim was shoved into the dim room and the bar dropped into place. With a sigh, he sank down on the blankets, leaning against the wall, and wondered what his partner had in mind. Chances were very good Artie expected to draw all of the men out of the building. Was a posse or an army troop waiting outside to grab them?

The thought had barely crossed his mind when Jim heard sounds beyond the door again. He pulled himself to his feet, tensely waiting and wondering. Had someone changed his mind and come back for whatever reason? Joe had been particularly angry that he had been bested in the brawl yesterday.

"Jim? You in here?" The door opened a crack.

"Frank!"

Now it opened wider and Frank Harper was there, grinning widely. "Found you in just the third door I opened. That's pretty good odds. You all right?" Even in the dimness he could see the bruises and cuts on Jim's face.

"Better all the time. Let's get out of here. What's going on?"

Jim made just one detour, to a cabinet in the main room where he knew his and Artie's guns had been placed. He strapped his on as he followed Harper out through the front door and quickly into the surrounding trees, where he found the colonel and Ned Malone. Frank was explaining the plan, and Jim had to concur with it. The first thing they needed to do was to get Artie away from Jarrett and his men; then the posse that was waiting a short distance down the road could close in.

Even though still stiff and sore, Jim insisted on accompanying the other two agents as they followed through on their scheme. The colonel did not try to object; he knew his man too well. He himself would remain in place, ready to signal the posse as soon as all was ready.

"Ned's getting pretty good at disguises," Frank grinned as he glanced at the younger agent who was donning a pair of wire-rimmed glasses as they moved through the brush. He was already neatly attired in a pin-stripe suit and shiny shoes. He had put a little padding under his shirt and trousers to give the appearance of a rather out-of-shape young man.

"He has a good teacher," Jim murmured. Frank might not be as adept as Artemus, but he was talented in taking on different roles. _I just hope this works. Jarrett has never seen Malone, but what about the other men with him? If he's recognized…_

With a nod to the other two agents, Ned left them as they reached the outer edge of the main building. He wanted to appear to have come around the building. He also paused to pick up some dust to rub on his shoes and pants legs. Then he started in the direction Jim had indicated the group had gone, walking in the manner of a man not accustomed to much exertion, panting heavily.

They had heard voices and caught a glimpse of movement where an outcropping of rock caused a bump in the hillside above the mine buildings, perhaps a hundred yards from the structures. That would be where Artie, as old Walton, would be busily trying to sell Jarrett on the fact that his secret lode would be found. So far as they knew, Julian Jarrett did not know much about geology and mining, but he would not want someone like the old prospector to realize that, let alone his men.

W*W*W*W*W

"You see that? You see that? That rock right there! Sure sign of silver and lots of it. Lots of it!" Artie pointed to a nondescript bare rock and fairly performed a jig to display the old man's excitement.

"Why didn't your former partner find this?" Jarrett inquired, gazing at the rock and frowning.

"On account of he was too stupid! Too stupid! He found the other vein and didn't think ta look no further!" Artie cast a quick glance toward the ten men who had followed them. Jarrett had attempted to send them back, but they had refused, including Boyce, who appeared now to be harboring suspicions about Jarrett. _Need to keep them interested until Ned gets here. If everything went right, he should show up any moment._

As if on cue, he heard the voice calling. "Grandfather! Grandfather! There you are!" The young man in the wire-rimmed glasses puffed toward them, waving a hand. "I knew I'd find you here, Grandfather!"

"Don't pay him no mind, Mr. Jarrett!" Artie backed away. "I don't know him. I don't know him! Go 'way, Willie! Go 'way!"

Ned Malone came up to the group and grasped the old man's arm. "Grandfather, you've given everyone quite a turn. Sir, I'm sorry if he's disturbed your morning."

Jarrett gaped. "Who are you?"

Artie spoke quickly. "This here's the grandboy I told ya about. Lawyer, he is. Lawyer. Good one, too. Willie, tell 'em. Tell'em about the lode. It's mine, ain't it? It's all mine!"

Ned patted Artie's shoulder. "Of course it is, Grandfather. You come back home and we'll sign all the papers." He looked at Jarrett again. "I'm afraid years in the desert have addled his mind. He worked here at this mine for a while… now has it in his head that he owns it. Come along, Grandfather. We need to get home right away."

Artie caught the sense of urgency in the young agent's tone. "All right, all right."

Before they could move though, the man known as Mac moved forward. "I know that kid!"

Jarrett looked at him. "What do you mean?"

Ned continued to attempt to drag Artemus away, but Mac blocked their way, pulling his gun. "He's a government man! I seen him testifying against a pal of mine in Phoenix a few months back!"

"That's nonsense!" Ned cried, assuming a pose of umbrage. "My name is William Walton, Jr., and I'm an attorney in Colorado Springs!"

"This here's my grandson, my boy Billy's boy!" Artie protested. "He ain't no gum'mint man! No Walton would be a gum'mint man!"

Jarrett spun back to Boyce. "Where's West?"

"We locked him up."

"Let's go see," Jarrett snapped. "Bring them along."

W*W*W*W*W

"Something's gone wrong," Jim murmured from their place of hiding.

Harper expelled a noisy breath. "The one thing we feared, I'd imagine. That someone in the gang might recognize Ned. I should have insisted he put on some whiskers."

Jim gazed at the group now making their way toward the buildings. Artie and Ned were in the middle, and guns were pointed at them. "We can't start anything..." He glanced at Frank. "But maybe we can surprise them. Come on!"

With Artemus continuing in his guise as the old man and noisily protesting all the while, Jarrett's group were moving slowly. Jim and Frank headed back through the trees and brush, keeping distance and greenery between them and those out in the open. Upon reaching Colonel Richmond again, Frank paused just long enough to give him a brief summary of what had happened, then followed Jim toward the front of the building, where two wagons were still waiting, their beds barely half filled with crates and bundles. Jim noticed a couple of crates that looked suspiciously like those that would contain rifles.

They entered cautiously into the front passageway, and immediately heard loud voices from the main room area. Jim's escape had been discovered, and Jarrett was yelling at the top of his lungs, excoriating his men, who were trying to offer excuses. Jim heard one point out that because the bar was removed from the outside that meant someone had helped the prisoner. Jarrett would have none of that, blaming them for deserting their posts. In the midst of the clamor, Artie, still in his old prospector guise, was screeching protests about the highhanded treatment, and Ned, in only a slightly milder tone, was backing him up.

"We'd better move while they're distracted," Frank murmured.

Jim concurred with a short nod and they moved forward, pausing only when they got to the opening to the dining area, flattening against either wall. No one was paying attention to anything except the noisy row that was occurring. Jim stepped out into the room, and fired a shot into the ceiling.

Instantly every eye swung towards them. "Don't do it!" Frank warned the two men who started to reach for the weapons at their sides, lifting his own pistol menacingly.

"Well," Jarrett spoke then, his eyes fastened on the pair. "Frank Harper. Now the party is complete. Welcome, Mr. Harper."

"Sorry I can't exchange pleasantries, Jarrett," Frank snapped, moving slightly to one side. "I'm not nearly as happy to see you."

Artemus and Ned had frozen along with the others, and now Artie grabbed Ned's arm and started to pull him back toward the other side of the group. As he did so, he reached toward the nearest man, intending to pull the pistol from his holster. At that moment Spider acted from the other side of Ned, seizing that young man's other arm and jerking him away from Artie. Before Ned could react, Spider was holding him with his arm around his neck, and Spider's pistol was jammed into Ned's back.

"You federal boys drop your guns or this kid gets it!"

Artie jerked the gun from holster of the man nearest him, and stepped back. "Put it down, Spider, and let Malone go. You haven't a chance."

"Stand your ground, Spider," Jarrett spoke smoothly. "You'll get a bonus when we collect the ransom for these agents."

"You don't get it, Jarrett," Jim snapped. "It's over. All of you drop your weapons to the floor!"

Jarrett was unperturbed. "It's not over as long as Spider has your young agent. You are the ones who need to put your guns down. I know you men, all of a type. You won't sacrifice this man."

"Remember," Harper growled, "the instant Spider pulls the trigger, you are all dead!"

Jarrett smirked. "I'll take my chances with your soft hearts. Put your gun on the floor, Mr. Harper. You too, Mr. West and Mr. Gordon. You'll live longer."

Jim looked across at Artemus and saw his own thoughts reflected. _It's a stalemate_. Regardless of which side started shooting, Ned was dead. No other man had pulled his gun from its holster yet, but their hands were hovering near. They all knew how to use those weapons. The agents were outnumbered, eleven to three, if one included Jarrett.

Artie tried another tactic. "Jarrett, this entire place is surrounded by a posse from Denver. You can't get away."

Still the elegant man was unperturbed. "I will if I have four agents in my hands, which I plan to accomplish. Why prolong it, gentlemen? I would like to have the answer to one question, however. How did you catch on to Gerty Spalding?"

"She's an old friend," Artemus replied dryly. "A little research might have revealed that."

Jarrett scowled in Artie's direction. He did not like to be shown to have committed an error. "No matter," he said smoothly. "Just means one less to pay a share of the ransom to. Now, gentlemen, please don't make it necessary to harm the young man. Put your weapons down. You'll be our safe passage, in the event Mr. Gordon is being truthful about the posse. We'll move to a new location, receive the ransom, and you'll go free, safe and unharmed."

"And the moon is made of cheese," Frank snapped. "Tell your men to drop their weapons and release Malone. It'll go easier on them in the long run."

For the first time, Jarrett displayed some emotion, glaring toward Harper. "I owe you a great deal, Mr. Harper. It was because of you I had to go underground, so to speak, for such a long period. You ruined a splendid plan!"

Frank grinned. "I always aim to please!" he drawled.

Jarrett gathered himself, looked at Spider. "Kill him."

Even Spider was startled. "Hell, if I do that, they'll open up on us!"

"You're damn right, Spider," Artie growled. "Let him go and drop the gun. That's the only way you're going to get out of here alive. You can bet if we start shooting, you're going to be our first target."

The other men had begun to get restless as the standoff continued. Pete Boyce stepped slightly toward his boss. "Mr. Jarrett, I'm starting to think we're finished. We'll never get by these three and the posse too!"

"The posse is getting closer all the time," Jim stated. "They were told to start closing in once we entered." That was not entirely true, but very possible. The colonel would not be just standing by idly.

Almost as if on cue, another voice spoke up from behind Artie. "Gentlemen, Mr. West is correct. Thirty armed men surround this building. They'll shoot anyone who pokes a nose outside without a white flag—or our orders."

Artie glanced around. Colonel Richmond had come in through the kitchen and was standing in that doorway, a rifle at his shoulder and pointing directly at Julian Jarrett's head. Two other men with pistols were moving up alongside him, both wearing badges.

The ten men hesitated, looking around. The odds had shortened considerably. Spider was the first to move, releasing his hold around Malone's neck. Ned jumped away and grabbed Spider's gun, stepping over alongside Artemus. Seeing that, the other men slowly began to lift their weapons from their holsters and allow them to drop noisily to the floor.

"No! Stop!" Jarrett screeched, watching his men surrender. "I forbid you!"

"It's over, Jarrett," Jim rapped back, moving forward and starting to kick the weapons away. "You men line up along the wall over there." He motioned to a broad wall alongside the front door.

Julian Jarrett's rage overcame reason. He shoved the nearest man aside, and reached down to swoop up the pistol that man had just dropped, coming erect and swinging around toward Frank Harper. Jim fired his own gun just as Jarrett's finger started to tighten on the trigger. Jarrett's gun went off, but the bullet went harmlessly into the floor as he staggered and fell.

Ned was nearest and he grabbed Jarrett's gun before kneeling down and rolling Jarrett over. The wide-eyed stare revealed the truth. Ned brushed his hand over those eyes, then got to his feet. "I guess he's really dead this time."

Artie exhaled a noisy sigh, pulling off his battered hat and the scraggy wig with it. "Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy."

"Thanks for your fast reaction, Jim," Frank said. "I'm afraid I was too busy watching the others."

"No problem." Jim's face was grim as he looked down at the dead man. "Why do they always think they are so much smarter—and better—than honest men?"

Colonel Richmond issued some orders to the posse members who were entering the building now, then joined his agents. "Jim, you need to get some medical treatment."

Jim looked up, surprised. He had pretty much forgotten about his bruises and cuts during the frenzied activity. "I'm all right, sir."

Artie sighed. "I have heard that so many times! Don't worry, Colonel. I'll see he gets checked over."

"I'm fine," Jim reiterated with some emphasis. "A bath, fresh clothes, a good meal, I'll be like new."

His partner rolled his eyes. _At least I'll get him back to the train and put some salve on those bumps and bruises!_ He was pretty sure that Jim had not experienced any broken or even cracked bones. He would not be moving so freely if that were the case.

Richmond did not roll his eyes, but sighed inwardly. The agent would never change. "Artemus told me what you did to cause a distraction so he could get the girls out of here. I have no doubt that will earn at least a commendation, perhaps from the British government as well."

Now Jim was chagrined. "Colonel, that was nothing special."

The other agents exchanged amused glances. For some reason, James West never seemed to entirely realize what a special man he was. _And for that, we are grateful_, Frank mused as he followed the others out the front door. _Jim has an ego, but it's not the kind of man that causes him to lord it over the rest of us. He'd be entitled to brag, but thankfully he does not. Artemus could do some boasting too, as far as that goes. This country—and the agency—are fortunate indeed!_

W*W*W*W*W

_Chevalier sans peur et sans reproche._

[Knight without fear and without reproach.]

Applied to Chevalier Pierre du Terrail Bayard (1475-1524), French national hero and captain in Italian campaigns of Charles VIII

Two months later the Wanderer pulled into the rail yards in Washington, DC, its first visit there in quite some time. If Jim West had had his way, it would not be there now. But he was not a man who would or could disobey a direct order from his commander, especially the Commander-in-Chief.

Jim grumbled all the while he was getting dressed for the affair, until Artie chided him. "What kind of example are you setting for our guest?"

Jim glanced at the nervous young man seated on the sofa. David Elton had never been in the nation's capital, let alone facing meeting not only the President but even worse, the parents of the young lady he had been corresponding with these past weeks. Leatrice Gresham had been the one to contact the head of the Secret Service to ask a special favor. Would it be possible to transport David to Washington?

Richmond had concurred and instructed West and Gordon to make a slight detour to Denver to pick up the farmer's son. David had purchased a fine suit of clothes in Denver, but he was still worried not only about his appearance, but his behavior. His mother had taught him manners; however, being polite at a church social was nothing like attending a reception and dinner in the British Embassy.

Thus, on the cross-country trip, the two agents had tutored him. Artemus prepared meals that while not nearly as fancy, would help David learn how to use the array of eating utensils that would be on the table at the banquet. They helped him with "small talk," and instructed him how to address the various dignitaries, who he should shake hands with; who he should merely offer a nod or a polite slight bow.

"How did you learn all this?" David wailed as Jim tried to explain that he could shake hands with President Grant but merely bow at the shoulders to the British ambassador—unless the ambassador offered his hand first.

Artie laughed. "Experience, David. You should have seen us at our first formal dinner at the French embassy! I'm still surprised we were not lined up for a firing squad at dawn!"

In the end, David survived better than James West did. Leatrice greeted David warmly, and her parents were equally pleased to meet the young American who had done their daughters a great favor, let alone won Leatrice's affection on such short notice. They seemed to hold no prejudice against Americans; Mrs. Gresham's sister had married an American and lived on a farm in Virginia, after all.

But Jim had to endure not only the enthusiastic gratitude of the parents, but also the various other officials at the embassy, where he indeed received a medal. Artemus was feted as well for guiding the girls to safety, but James West was the one who received the major attention. His bruises had healed, but sometimes he felt as though others were studying him, looking for those painful signs of the ordeal he had endured in order to give the girls a chance to escape.

When the long day of festivities and adulation ended, the two agents returned to their train car. David had been invited to stay with the Greshams for a longer period; they would see to putting him on a train home, and were already talking about another trip to the west, this time the entire family.

Jim pulled off his jacket, and sank onto the sofa, loosening his tie. "Artie, I'd rather face a dozen Julian Jarretts or Dr. Lovelesses than go through that again." He glanced at the medal he had stuffed in his pocket earlier, and then put it aside.

Artie gazed down at his friend. "Just think, though. Out of all this, we may have helped further British-American relations."

For a moment, Jim frowned. "Oh, you mean Leatrice and David. Hope that works out."

"Even if it doesn't, it's nice for now. David is able to show the Greshams and others at the embassy that not all Americans are crass money-grubbing yokels. Especially those in the west."

"Which reminds me. Care to play a few hands of poker before turning in?" Jim grinned.

"Only if you clarify which one of us is crass and money-grubbing and which is the yokel!"

"I say, let the cards decide."

Artie moved toward the drawer in the cabinet where the cards and chips were stored. "I have to warn you, I took some lessons from Frank when we were killing time in Denver."

Jim pushed himself to his feet, his smile broad. "So did I."

**THE END**


End file.
